


It was the way

by fuckingkinney



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Drug Use, Ian returning, M/M, brief mention of rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-02
Updated: 2014-02-02
Packaged: 2018-01-10 23:05:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1165645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckingkinney/pseuds/fuckingkinney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>because you were wrong and he was <i>right</i> and you hated him for it in more ways than he'd ever be able to understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It was the way

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything in month, and I was listening to 'Let Her Go' and 'Bonfire Heart' with a muse that I can't get out through roleplaying so... yeah.
> 
> This was written in about twenty minutes, so I really apologize in advance... I'll try and start writing things more often again~

It was the way he touched you when he thought that you weren't paying attention, too soft for it to be considered anything more than affectionate.

It was the way that he held onto you when he drove in deep, relentless in the way that was agonizing and perfect; making you want more even once you were drying against your stomach and he was panting into your neck.

It was the way he said it, so open and honest, in a way that you'd never experienced before.

It was the way that it terrified you down to your very core, because you weren't gay. You weren't anything in regards to the ginger standing across from you.

Except you were everything to him, and he you.

It was the way that you knew it and yet you couldn't, wouldn't, admit it. You knew what happened to boys that liked other boys, had delivered out the punishment for it too many times to keep track of.

You were a hypocrite and the blood never washed off, his own mixing with the ones that were nameless.

It was way the way their faces that danced behind your eyelids when you tried to sleep though, mixing in with the vision of him withering on the floor in agony and blood pouring out of his mouth.

Pain you'd put him through, because you were wrong and he was _right_ and you hated him for it in more ways than he'd ever be able to understand.

It was the way you'd never seen such fire in his eyes as he cornered you before you left, so determined in a way you'd never seen him before.

But you'd still married her, because that was what you had to do. 

It was the way that he didn't _understand_ \- as though he assumed that this what you wanted, that you hadn't been forced to fuck someone that didn't speak English because you'd been caught with a cock up your ass and then beaten within an inch of your life.

You couldn't blame him for leaving, not really. You envied him though, in that fucked up way of yours, for being able to get away.

You never would be able to.

You were doomed to stay here; to live and die, either killed by the man that you were created from or shot in a drive by.

There was a third option, but you were too much of a coward to even do that.

It was the way that when he came back, he came back to you.

It wasn't what you wanted though, not anymore.

He longer looked you in the eyes, his own too ruined and barely seeing.

The rest of him had changed too, that _spark_ that you were too selfish to leave extinguished, never to return.

Sometimes you mourned it, when you thought that no one could hear you.

You knew that she could though, the walls were too thin and the way that she stared at you the next day when you tried to snort whatever was in sight to numb the pain made that obvious enough.

He done that too, now. 

Sure, you use to get high together - but it never came to quite an extent.

It was the first thing that he asked you when you finally got over the awe of him being _there_ :

"You have any coke?"

It was the way that he didn't hesitate to snort it, but then he was on you. Hands roaming and insistent, mouth covering yours in a way that you couldn't do anything other than sob against as you were fucked against a bathroom cubicle wall.

Hands fisted in orange hair, legs wound around his waist and tears stinging your eyes.

It was the way that he was no longer that kid you'd ruined, except he'd never really been a kid.

He was damaged now though, more than what either of you would acknowledge, because you both were.

Maybe that was why you were so drawn to each other, even though you knew what would happen.

You were just counting down the days, anticipating it, because he was no longer yours.

It was the way that he wasn't anyone's now, not even his own.

It was the way that his hands gripped onto your ass as he fucked you, face to face. 

It was the way that he made sure you _fucking looked at him_ whilst it all happened.

It was the way that he never came before you now. No more awkward apologies and fumbling fingers over your cock as you made him stay inside of you.

It was the way that he didn't say anything now, didn't linger longer than what he had to.

He knew what he was doing, the look on his face betraying him more than what he realized as he left you to clean up.

Perhaps it was karma, for doing this for him all these years, or maybe it was just what you deserved.

Maybe wasn't even an option, but those weren't thoughts you allowed yourself to dwell on.

It was the way that when you finally said it, "I love you", he only looked at you as though you'd gutted him with a knife before responding "turn over".

**Author's Note:**

> feedback would be appreciated, good or bad.


End file.
